


All The Little Things We’ve Done

by Terrie



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrie/pseuds/Terrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lot for Steve to adjust to, and sometimes, it gets to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Little Things We’ve Done

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Beatle's Misery.

Months of living together and you learned things about people. Clint had a sweet tooth to rival a five year old. Tony was only a morning person when he’d failed to go to sleep the night before. For a Russian, Natasha wasn’t very fond of vodka. Thor, after seeing it in a movie, liked to run down the halls and then slide in his stocking feet. And when the situation called for it, Bruce could be viciously cruel.

There had been adjustments, of course. Seemed like an unfair number of them had been on Steve’s part. He’d been horrified when Tony had shown him a tv show with a comedian who was downright vulgar. Sure, he and the Commandos had shared probably more than their fair share of dirty jokes, but that had been a bunch of guys on the battlefield. Saying those kind of things out there in the open, where anyone could hear them, just didn’t seem right to him. 

There were lots of things like that. Like the way people took so many thing for granted. Even before the war and rationing, luxuries had been out of his reach. Now, store shelves filled with things he’d never even heard of, and people acted like it was normal. To them, it was normal. Steve still had to be careful that he didn’t get overwhelmed and either come home with more food than even they could eat in a month or stand there for endless stretches of times, trying to decide between the multigrain bread and the one hundred percent whole wheat. 

The last time that had happened, Tony had shown up looking for him. He’d paid for both loaves of bread and taken him home, promising Steve that if he wanted to keep doing the grocery shopping, next time they’d make sure the list was more specific.

It wasn’t all bad. Sure, things weren’t perfect. Bullies still existed. Some lady reporter had asked him what should be done about Muslims, on account of the terrorist stuff, and he’d wanted to shake her, because he’d just finished fighting a war that was, at least in part, about religion, and why were people so eager for another one. 

But there were more chances and choices for everyone, no matter who you were. People were talking about how the next president could be a lady, and he wondered what Peggy had thought when the world finally opened up like that. And he wished he could ask her, but she was gone, and he was still here, because the universe was a crazy place, and now he fought along side a bunch of heroes who were just as crazy.

They were becoming a team, and it was as much about what happened off the field as it was about the battles they fought together. The day that Coulson had shown up, weak, tired, leaning heavily on a cane, but very much alive, Clint had broken down. Natasha and Steve had exchanged quick looks over his head, and no one had said anything as they’d shuffle out of the room, leaving Clint to curl up on the floor, clutching at Coulson’s pants and crying ugly sobs into the fabric, while Coulson murmured quiet reassurances that it was alright, everything was alright. When the two men had reappeared hours later, tear stains across one leg of Coulson’s pants and Clint still bleary eyed, not even Stark had said anything, simply asking if Coulson was staying for dinner.

When Pepper Potts had broken things off with Tony, leaving both of them brittle and hollow with regret, Tony had responded by retreating to his workshop, insisting he was fine, but playing the same few songs over and over while he tinkered with the armor.

After three days, Steve had gone in after him and ended up talking about Peggy. About the date that never was and how he wondered if she still thought of him in the years after, and how he’d never know, and a small part of him was grateful he didn’t have to deal with that potential disappointment, that clash of present and past, and he kind of hated himself for that. And how fucked up was that? He’d actually said “fuck” which Tony mocked him for, but Steve was okay with that, because Tony finally left the workshop. 

They were coming together, though some days, Steve wasn’t totally sure what the end result was going to look like. But the best things couldn’t be forced. The Commandos had come together organically, and he didn’t think people realize how much of everything he did was really them.

Tonight was one of those nights where it was hard to avoid thinking about the Commandos. He sat in the dark in the living room. Or, well, a living room. Maybe rich people had words for distinguishing between their many living rooms, but if they did, Steve didn’t know any of them.

He had a drink sitting in front of him. He couldn’t get drunk, but the booze was familiar, the stuff Howard used to drink. It seemed a little strange to find it here, given what he’s gleaned of the relationship between Tony and his father, but maybe Tony’s love of a good drink won out over old bitterness.

Steve wasn’t actually interested in drinking it. It was just there for company.

He’d lost track of how long he’d been sitting there, when a table lamp clicked on and Natasha sat down across from him. “Still awake? I thought you’d be tired.”

“Tired, but not sleepy. You know?”

Natasha nodded. “I’m familiar with the feeling. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

She leaned back in her chair and waited, while Steve struggled with his thoughts. “I just… What am I doing here?”

Natasha raised a single eyebrow. Even after the serum, Steve couldn’t do that. “Do you mean here, the living room, specifically, or more generally?”

Steve knew what he was doing in the living room. He was, or at least had been, sitting alone in the dark with a drink he didn’t actually want. Pathetic. “I got a letter today. From a lady named Donna Prior.”

“Should I recognize the name?”

“I’d never heard of her before today. But her mother’s maiden name was Helen Mitchell. Helen danced in the chorus line for the show the Army had me doing. She was the youngest. Only sixteen, but she looked older, and she lied about her age. She was an orphan like me. Her dad had died when she was a baby. His lungs weren’t any good. A gas attack during the last War. Then her mom got sick. She wasn’t sure what it was, but when she died, Helen was on her own. She loved to dance, so she joined the chorus line. She was good, too. Better than some of the older dames.”

“She sounds impressive.”

“She was. Turns out she died a few months ago. A stroke. Took her daughter a while to figure out how to get ahold of me, and even longer for the letter to make its way to me.”

“What did it say?” Natasha’s eyes roamed over his face, watching him carefully. She was looking for what he wasn’t saying, as much as for what he was. It was probably a spy thing, because Coulson did it, too.

“She had some things. Some sketches of mine, a couple old posters. They wanted to know if I wanted them. Which is just stupid. The sketches were ones I did for her. And the posters were hers from the get-go. She was in that show, too. Hell, the soldiers like the girls more than they ever liked me. I didn’t look as good in a short skirt.”

Natasha turned her head, but Steve still saw her smile at the image of him in a skirt. “I’m sorry your friend died. That must be upsetting.”

“That’s the thing,” Steve said. “I hadn’t thought of Helen in a long while. Not since the day the girls went back home and I stayed in Europe to fight. That doesn’t even count all the years I was… you know. And then I woke up, and she was alive, but I didn’t think about her, and now’s she’s dead and I am thinking about her. Her and everyone else. They’re all dead, and I’m still here.”

“We’re glad you’re here.” Natasha leaned forward and patted his arm. “I don’t think this would work without you.”

Steve shook his head. “You’d be fine. All of you. If I wasn’t here, I know you’d keep the others in line.”

The smile she gave him was rarely brilliant. “You really think so?”

“I know it. You’ve got Tony intimidated, and that’s half of it right there.” It was a little silly, because she wasn’t the leader and, as things were, she wasn’t going to be the leader, but he wanted her to understand that he was serious. He thought it was the kind of thing she didn’t hear often enough. Maybe because she was a woman. Or because she was Russian. Or because her capacity for focused violence scared some people. Or a hundred other dumb excuses. “You know what everyone is capable of, and even if you work alone half the time, you understand how groups work. You’d be great.”

“Thank you. But I’m not interested. I am perfectly happy to let you try to keep the boys in line. Anyway, we both know that if you weren’t here, Coulson would be in charge.”

“Are we sure he’s not already in charge and just humoring us?”

“That’s entirely possible. I’ve known Phil Coulson for years and he is a sneaky bastard. But he does trust you to lead this team. You. Not me, not any of the others, and never Tony. Because you’re not just a good man, you’re a decent one. And because, in spite of everything you’ve seen and done, you still blush when someone pays you a compliment.”

Steve covered his face with one hand. “How does being easily embarrassed help this team?”

“You blush because you never expect or ask for anything. You’re this team’s conscience. That’s not something I can do. That kind of thinking was trained out of me a long time ago. So, if you need to know, that’s what you’re doing here.” Natasha reached up and rubbed at one eye, using the motion to try and cover a yawn. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. He wasn’t sure he actually believed her. For one, he knew she was wrong about not having a conscience. But the middle of the night was not the time to try and convince her of that.

“Good. Now drink your scotch and go to bed.”

“I’m not actually planning on drinking it.” He pushed the glass towards her across the table. 

She downed it in one gulp. “There. No more scotch. Now, off to bed with you, Captain. That’s an order.”

She headed out, Steve presumed to her own bed. He grabbed the now empty glass to take to the kitchen and turned the light off on his way out. He was halfway to the kitchen when he heard singing.

“The hills are alive with the sound of music…. Something, something, I forgot the words….”

Tony was rummaging through the open refrigerator and singing to himself. Steve smiled. After a certain point of sleep deprivation, Tony stopped being cranky and obsessive and became loopy and slightly delirious. According to the “Care of Tony Stark” manual Pepper had provided to the Avengers upon their arrival at the Tower, if allowed to go on, he would eventually start to hallucinate. Usually something involving dinosaurs. There had been a preemptive footnote explaining that no, no one knew why it was dinosaurs, but that Tony seemed to think they were awesome. 

Steve set the empty scotch glass down on the counter, and Tony turned at the sound. “Steve! So, I have this song stuck in my head. And I really hate this song. I mean, you have no idea how much I hate this song…. Actually, you probably don’t know, because the movie came out after you were stuck in a giant ice cube. You need to see this movie. You need to see it so we can hate the music together.”

Tony grabbed Steve’s wrist, probably to drag him off to see the movie he was talking about. Steve shook his wrist free with a laugh. “It’s two in the morning.”

“So? I’m awake. You’re awake. We’re awake together.” 

Steve took Tony by the elbow and steered him out of the kitchen. Time to act quickly and redirect Tony before he became fixated. “Maybe we should both sleep.”

“You want to sleep together?” Tony dropped his head against Steve’s shoulder and fluttered his eyelashes up at him. “Why, Steve, I’m flattered. Be gentle with me.”

Steve just sighed, because what else could he do? Tony was even more himself when he was sleep-deprived. “Stop trying to shock me, Tony. I’m not a prude. Just because I don’t talk about sex all the time doesn’t mean I don’t know about it. It just means I’m not crass.”

“Is Captain America calling me crass? I think my feelings are hurt.”

“I doubt that. Remember, I’ve seen your news coverage. Crass is one of the nicer things you’ve been called.”

“This is very true.”

It occurred to Steve that Tony still had his head resting his head on his shoulder, and he reached up to run a hand along the dark strands. They were soft and, in spots, a little greasy under his fingers. “C’mon. I’ll walk to your room.” 

“But I was working on something.” He tried to pull away, but Steve put an arm around his shoulders and held him easily in place. “It was a… I don’t remember. But I’m sure it was awesome. I’m mean, it’s something I made, so it must be.”

“I’m sure it is. But it will still be there in the morning. Sleep now, work in the morning.”

Tony let himself be led down the hall, before he abruptly pulled away from Steve. “Wait a minute. I’m a goddamn adult. You can’t make me go to bed if I don’t want to.”

“You’re right. I can’t. But as leader of the team, I can ground you from the Avengers if I think you’re too sleep deprived to do your job. And you know I will.”

Tony narrowed his eyes and Steve braced himself for an explosion of temper. Instead, Tony let out an angry huff of air. “You can be a real bastard sometimes. Next time a reporter asks me what it’s like working with Captain America, I’m telling them you’re a giant control freak.”

He stalked down the hall, but didn’t get more than twenty or so feet, before he turned back. “Steve, where was I going?”

By the time they reached Tony’s bedroom, it was clear that he had lost whatever it was that let him ignore his body’s need for sleep. He stumbled and leaned heavily against Steve. And he mumbled to himself, things Steve thought might be engineering terms, but he couldn’t be sure. By the time he’d steered Tony to the edge of his bed, the other man’s eyes were half shut.

He bent down to undo the laces of Tony’s sneakers. A clumsy hand patted at his head. “Nice Steve.” 

The slide of Tony’s fingers over his hair was distracting. Especially when they found a small tangle and pulled uncomfortably. Steve quickly pulled off Tony’s shoes and stood, so that Tony’s hand dropped back down to the bed. “Arms up. Let’s get your shirt off.”

Tony wasn’t much help, passively letting Steve wrestle him out of his t-shirt. Once freed from the confines of his clothing, the arc reactor cast the room in pale blue light. It formed harsh shadows and drew sharp lines across everything. The contrast made the circles under Tony’s eyes look all the darker. Steve wondered how much of that was illusion. Tony pushed himself too hard, and they let him, mainly because they didn’t know how to stop him.

He dropped a kiss on the top of Tony’s head, the way his mother had when he was small, and pulled the sheets up over his chest, thick sheets designed to block the light of the arc reactor. Pepper had told him once that they had to special ordered, and that she wasn’t sure they were worth the cost, given how little Tony used them. 

Tonight, they would get used.

There were nights, like tonight, when Steve struggled with the fact that he had survived that plunge into the ice. Where he struggled with memories of a rush of icy water and then waking up seventy years in the future, because things like that didn’t happen. Nights where he wondered if it was worth it, because if the technology has changed, people haven’t and they still struggle with the same petty problems. And those same petty problems still turned into big problems that destroyed lives.

But tonight he could put Tony to bed and make sure he slept. He could take a little weight off of overburdened shoulders. It was a small thing, but it was still something. That had to be worth something.

He’d deal with the rest in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Outside of canon, I do need to acknowledge two author's whose work has influenced how I see these characters. [Copperbadge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge), especially his pieces [A Partial Dictionary Of The 21st Century By Captain Steve Rogers, US Army](http://archiveofourown.org/works/551094) and [Film Studies, or, Four Films About Captain America and One By Him](http://archiveofourown.org/works/431347/chapters/729463), and absolutely everything by [Scifigrl47](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47).
> 
> How I started out being influenced by the above works and ended up with something kinda melancholy, I don't know.


End file.
